Enough
by Ariadne1
Summary: Something short, sweet and fluffy on the last day of school for Draco. And a kiss. A couple of kisses. D/G.
1. Ginny

Enough

**Disclaimer:** If you'd be so silly,

                      To think that it's all mine,

                      I hope you'll soon be wiser,

                      I don't own a dime.

                      It's JK's as I hope you know,

                      I only own the plot,

                      And even that's not always there, 

                      As I think you could spot.

And the summary mostly belongs to my beta-reader! 

***

I remember it very well. Too well. Too bloody damn well.

I wish I could forget it. I really do. But then I know there'll be a big hole in my heart-wait, what the hell am I saying? I mean my memories. Of course I do, I mean there'll be a big hole in my memories. He has nothing whatsoever to do with my heart.

At least, I hope so-I hope not. I hope not. Or I hope so? Whichever it is, he has nothing to do with my heart. I hope.

I really do.

If I close my eyes-and I do-I can still picture myself standing there. I knew my eyes must have been blazing, as they sometimes did. The same way Ron's eyes blazed as he quarreled with Hermione. The same look in Mum's eyes when she scolded Dad for another of his Muggle collections. The same way...

It was a fiery look, an angry look. But there was a touch of... A touch of...

No. I promised I wouldn't mention the 'L' word, and so I won't. I won't, because I know what'll happen if I do.

I was glaring at him, with _'The Look'_, and he was sneering at me, with _'His Sneer'_. That patented, copyrighted sneer of his. The one I had so often seen him shoot in Harry's direction when he thought no one was looking. Or even if someone was looking.

I was looking. I'm always looking. But only at him.

And so I said something. And he said something. What it was, what either of us said, I can't quite recall. He was sneering and drawling, and I was blazing and screaming, but I can't quite place the words that were spoken.

I do know he was insulting, so I must have insulted him back. And he was angry. So angry. And I was too. We were throwing insults back and forth, like it was a bouncing ball.

Then I said something particularly bad. I know I felt bad when the remark hit him, and I had no clue how I could have said that. 

Before I could process anything, his pale hand rose and hit my cheek. I remember how my cheek stung. He must have thought it was too little punishment, because he did something else.

His kissed me.

And, hell, it _was_ a kiss. Fumbles with Neville and blushes with Colin, heck, how they paled in comparison. I think he's tainted me for any other's kiss now. Maybe that was what he was aiming for. I wouldn't know.

Words wouldn't do justice to what it felt like. I can't even begin to describe how I felt then, so I won't even try.

Then he stalked off, and I was left behind, lips still tingling from the tension of it all.

It was so long ago. Six months. Six long, dragging, months of remembering what went on. And nothing. He hasn't shown one sign of remembering what happened.

Damn him.

It was Harry, Ron and Hermione's graduation today. They'll be leaving Hogwarts, and I'll be alone. Not that I ever was part of them anyway. They'll be leaving, and so he'll be leaving.

And I'll never again have the chance to demand an explanation. I might never see him again.

Oh, hell.

Wait. He's coming. He's coming towards me, in my direction.  I'm sure my heart is stopping. I can quite literally feel it ceasing to beat with anxiety. Oh god, oh god.

I tell myself to calm down. He'll walk past me, like he has a thousand times before.

Except this time it's different.

He's stopping... No, he isn't. He's not stopping. I feel tears pricking my eyelids. 

But I won't cry. I promised not to the same way I promised not to mention the 'L' word, and I promised for the same reason. _'The Reason.'_

I close my eyes, hoping that perhaps not seeing him will help ease the pain. But it's still there. It, perhaps, hurts even more. So I imagine him, conjure up a picture of him in my mind's eye, like I have so many times before.

I first see his hair. His hair as the sunlight streams in and hits it, making it glint and shine in the sun. His silvery-blond hair.

I see his face, now. The sharp features he must have inherited from his father. But they look so much better on him. So much softer. 

I see his eyes. The gray eyes, so cold, but so warm as he kissed me. The guarded eyes of his, no doubt carrying a secret that weighed heavily upon him. I could see it, though. I saw it _then_.

How I wanted to hold him. My arms ached to go around him, to hold him in spite of everything else.

I can't stand it anymore. I can't. Seeing him, even if it wasn't really him, tore my heart apart. Seeing him as I could never have him.

So I snap open my eyes. And they meet with his.

_His?_

_His!_

_His..._

I pull my eyes from his and look at the rest of him. His face. His lips. His smile.

His smile. He doesn't smile. But he is.

And for me.

"Ginny..." he whispers, throatily.

"Draco..." I whisper back.

I know what he was meant to say. I know what was meant to happen. I had every second planned out carefully, as I had planned it so many times lying in bed, trying to fall asleep.

But the look on his eyes, my hands clasped in his...

That was enough for me now.

Then he kissed me.

And it was so much more.

***

**A/N:** I'm planning to do a companion piece to this, in Draco's POV. When I find the time, that is. And I'm feeling poetic today (notice the Disclaimer?) so...

         Would you be so kind,

         To offer me your time,

         Just a sec or two,

         If only to say 'Moo'

         Press the little button,

         (Nothing rhymes but glutton)

         Write a little letter,

         Tell me to get better,

         Since you've had a sit,

         The poem must be worth it?

         Make me oh so happy,

         Review and I'll get sappy.


	2. Draco

Enough

****

**A/N:** Eh. I don't feel poetic now, so you don't get another poem. But that's a good thing, I figure. And I'm finally writing, after my long break/bout of laziness. I just came from watching Scream, so I need a good bit 'o' fluffiness. So what if I wrote it? ::glares:: **_Dedicated:_**_ to Apocalypse, for writing **For Every Possible Reason**, which somehow, one weird way or another, prompted me to write this._

**Disclaimer:** It's not mine, damn it, not mine! ::breathes heavily:: Yeah, what I said, anyway.

****

It's not like I love her, or anything.

          In her dreams, right? I don't even remotely _like_ her. She's just another annoying thorn in my side. Like Potter and Weasley. And that Mud... Muggle Granger. 

          Well... not exactly like Potter and Weasley, to be exact. Not that it wouldn't make my day to see those two prats prancing around in some frilly yellow robes.

          Not in _that_ way, of course. Just the thought makes me want to...

          Let's just keep it at violent discharging of Mother's Sunday dinner.

          But, veering off the track there.

          I really, _really_ don't like her. So what if she always looks so damn good when she prances into a room, shining of happiness and all that goddamn rubbish. My stomach goes into twisted knots when other things happen too.

          I really don't know why I did that.

          _That._

          With these girls, you never know what they might take something as. You insult them, they think you want to kiss them. Tell them to go away, they prepare the bloody marriage invitations.

          These Girls, Pansy, to-mei-toes, to-ma-toes. Minor difference.

          It was another normal day in The Life Of Draco Malfoy. Scare the First Years, control Crabbe and Goyle, run from Pansy, snap at Potter.

          Then I bumped into her in the hallway. I made some random comment. She got freakishly upset. She started shouting. Screaming, rather.

          Her eyes were all fiery and blazing. She has really beautiful eyes. Not that I notice particularly, of course. They're just really bright, and they shine, and... 

I've noticed before. She looks at me. She's looked at me. Does she really think I never noticed her staring? Only a blind man wouldn't notice. But you can be blind and still have eyes, you know. You can look, and not _see_.

But it doesn't matter. Nothing about Ginny Weasley should matter to me. I'm Draco Malfoy. I've _learnt_ to make things not matter to me. There's not a bloody thing in this cursed world that matters.

          But that day, I 'mattered' a whole lot. She was glaring at me so fiercely. I think it's something to do with the hair. Red hair, fire = Weasley temper = Ginny Weasley temper = glaring.

          I got bloody mad. And made a whole lot more random comments.

So there we were. Shouting at each other. Standing there, in the middle of the hallway, shouting and insulting and verbally abusing-as some might say-each other.

She's better than I would've thought she'd be at banter. Must be the fights with all those brothers of hers.

But then she insulted Mother. No one insults Mother. Say whatever about Fa... Lucius. But _no one_, no. one. insults. Mother.

She looked ashamed, in a way. Like she regretted saying that. But it didn't make one damn bit of difference to me. The adrenaline was pumping through my veins. Anger makes you do stupid things.

          And so I slapped her.

I know I shouldn't have. 'No gentleman every raises his hand to a Lady.' Blah, blah, blah. It's all there in the Malfoy Book of Etiquette. Rule no. 41, or something of the likes. Quite stupid, since there are worse things people can do.

We could have left it at that. _I_, could have bloody left it at that. She could have stormed off. I could have left her there-I do _not_ storm.

But I didn't.

Maybe I didn't think that slapping her was enough punishment. Maybe I wanted to embarrass her. Or maybe I just plain as hell wanted to know how it'd feel like.

Anger overrides the brain. Makes you reckless, stupid.

I kissed her.

Damn it, I kissed her.

And damn it more, it was a _good_ kiss.

Her lips were so soft, and she was so warm... And I shouldn't have enjoyed it.

But I did. And I really didn't want to have to deal with the after-effects of a really good kiss between two enemies. 

So I did what any normal, not-so-normal, teenage, hormonal-driven guy would do.

I went off. Left. Fled from the scene of the crime. It makes no difference what it's called, I did it anyway.

She kept looking at me in the hallway, in the Great Hall, so long after that. Whenever we crossed paths. She'd look at me, and I always felt her eyes begging me to show some kind of acknowledgement that what happened really did happen.

But the feeling of not wanting to deal with after-effects was, is, still there.

And I gave her nothing.

It's hard to believe that it's been six months now. Six long months. So very long ago, but yet I can still remember it like it was yesterday. Remember how it felt, remember the tension... remember her.

Graduation was today.

Last chance, they call it. Last chance for what, I'd like to know. Last chance to snog? Admit deep love for one of the Professors? 

Last chance.

Two words can have so many meanings. So many levels. Layers.

Like an onion. Not the best imagery, perhaps. But still.

_Last Chance._

And perhaps, _Last Chance_, is the very reason I'm heading this way.

Her way.

I don't know what I'm doing, or saying, or going to do or say. I just know that I'd regret it forever if I didn't use this bloody _Last Chance_ for _something_.

And so what, if that something is her.

And there she is. Not too hard to spot, that hair of hers is a dead give-away. I could spot her a mile off.

She closes her eyes as I near her. I take my place in front of her, and wait for her to open the eyes and see me there.

While I wait, I study her.

I've never really had a chance to do that since The Day. I suppose I was scared, in a way, that she might take it as a sign, or some bloody thing like that. And in the Great Hall, any over exposure of Ginny in the observing section was sure to prompt some over-protective-brotherly-accusing reaction. And I wanted that like a hole-in-the-head.

But now, I realize what I've missed out on.

She has the most bloody gorgeous hair. It gleams, amber and tarnished gold. Crimson, scarlet, ruby. All the colors of red and then some, garnet and burgundy, mixed together in the most beautiful way. Like the palette of an artist. And when the sun hits it, I could swear birds start singing.

A little over-exaggeration, perhaps, but there's really no way to describe it.

I know that if her eyes snap open, I'd see her gorgeous brown eyes. They sparkle with life, and quite often around me, anger. I feel quite proud, really, if I manage to make them glitter and glisten that way.

I would continue my appraisal of her, down her face, to her lips... but at that time, she opens her eyes, and I smile.

I really can't help it. It's a born reaction. I don't smile often, but...

It's _her_, you know?

It's her.

And that, _that_ in itself, means so much.

I whisper her name, in a voice that I've never heard myself in...

"_Ginny..._"

She also whispers, much in the same tone...

"_Draco..._"

She didn't have to say much more. I knew I didn't. And I could see it in her eyes. That we were both standing there, together. 

It was enough.

And I know what I have to do. I just know.

I kiss her.

_Last Chance_. I finally know what it really means.

****

**A/N:**Ahhh, there's the fluff! You know you like it! You get fluff, I got a sore bottom and tired eyes from sitting in front of the computer for so long. Eh, well. Slightly longer than the first part. That's either a bonus or a curse, depending on your POV, I suppose. Review, everyone loves being adored. **_Disclaimer 2: _**_Onion thing, from Shrek. You know, with the layers. _


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